


Lines That Converge

by DesireeArmfeldt



Series: Nonlinear Relationships [3]
Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over time, the boundaries get fuzzy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines That Converge

**Author's Note:**

> Because I've been on an angst kick lately, I feel I should put a large red label here: Not A Horrible Angst-Fest!

It happens like this:

 

Fraser is cooking spaghetti, because the only opportunity he gets to eat home-cooked food is if he cooks it himself, when the evening’s agenda includes Ray or Ray coming over to Fraser’s apartment (or Ray _and_ Ray, but sadly, that’s become a less frequent occurrence lately, and often a mixed blessing).  Neither of the Rays cooks beyond the preparation of packaged foods or perhaps eggs and toast.  Ray Kowalski seldom seems to care what he eats, while Ray Vecchio has strong and well-informed opinions, but both of them seem happy enough to consume Fraser’s admittedly amateurish cooking.

 

Ray and Ray come in together, with Ray Vecchio in mid-sentence, taking Ray Kowalski to task for something to do with his car’s interior.  Ray Vecchio sports a black eye and the knuckles of Ray Kowalski’s right hand are swollen, yet they would appear to have driven here together in the GTO.  And although Fraser can read the tension in the pitch of Ray Vecchio’s voice and the speed of Ray Kowalski’s movements, they seem more at ease with each other than usual.  Which means the tension is directed at _him_.  The realization turns his stomach into a knot of ice; he can feel his spine stiffening and his expression going defensively blank.

 

Ray Kowalski takes his first real look at Fraser’s face (because neither Ray seems to want to look directly at him), narrows his eyes, and then says over his shoulder to Ray Vecchio, “See?  I told you.”

 

Ray Vecchio shrugs uncomfortably.  “Well, go ahead, talk, then.”

 

Ray Kowalski glares at him, then turns to look at Fraser.  He rubs the back of his neck, takes a deep breath, and says, “It’s my fault, we did this all backwards, but I thought. . .well, maybe I wasn’t thinking, I was leading with my gut again, but it just, it seemed like. . .we needed to _know_ , see, if it would work.  Before we sprang it on you.  Fuck, I’m saying this all backwards, too.”

 

He glances at Ray, perhaps for reassurance or backup.  Ray Vecchio makes panicked slicing motions with his hands, plainly signaling _Stop talking, you moron_.

 

“Listen, Benny,” says Ray Vecchio, his hands outstretched placatingly.  “We love you.  You know that, right?  I mean, you really know that?”

 

Fraser does know that, he’s known them too long and been too intimate with them, trusted them and had his trust justified too many times, to doubt their love for him.  And yet. . . _we._   Why are Ray and Ray suddenly speaking in the first person plural?  Normally, they only do so when speaking of their mutual police work, and this conversation is clearly not about the job.

 

Fraser understands.  The ice in his belly creeps outwards, numbing him, as the pieces fall into place.  The last time that Ray and Ray confronted him like this, the two of them united in common cause, it was to present him with an offer that he could never have imagined in his wildest flights of fantasy.  To love them, each of his Rays, wholeheartedly, and to be blessed with their love in return.

 

But he never imagined it would be easy for them to. . .share; and it obviously has not been.  They’ve tried—he knows how hard they’ve tried—but apparently they’ve reached the breaking point.  So they’ve come to end it, as they began it, breaking the news to him, to spare him at least the pain of choice.

 

Ray Kowalski is cursing under his breath.  Ray Vecchio brushes past him and lays a tentative hand on Fraser’s shoulder.  The ice hasn’t quite reached the surface yet; Fraser can feel the warmth of Ray’s skin through two layers of clothing and his breath catches in spite of himself.

 

“I love you,” says Ray, looking right into Fraser’s eyes.  “Kowalski loves you—right, asshole?”

 

Fraser’s eyes flick to Ray Kowalski, who meets his gaze with characteristic intensity, nodding emphatically.

 

“I—“  Fraser licks his lips and forces the words out.  “I love you both.”

 

Ray squeezes his shoulder.  “We know.  And it rips you up when we, well, don’t love each other.”

 

Fraser looks at Ray’s swollen eye, then over at Ray Kowalski, and nods, reluctantly. 

 

“So, we had a talk, and we figured. . .”  Ray trails off, apparently losing his nerve, but Ray Kowalski strides over to join them and takes over.

 

“So we figured we’d better take a crack at fixing that,” he says.  “And it seemed like, well. . .”  He cups Ray’s chin in his hand and kisses him.

 

Fraser feels as if the floor is tilting under him.  He barely hears Ray Vecchio’s startled squawk, but he feels the two hands on him, one on each arm, steady as guylines.

 

And Ray is saying something about _Never cheat on you, not what this is about,_ and Ray is saying something in his other ear about _Don’t want to pull you apart_ , and Ray is saying _Had to make sure it could work,_ and Ray is saying _Sound like a dumb idea to you, Benny?_ , and Ray is saying _Make you happy, make us all happy, make this work_ , and Ray is saying _Make the schedule more complicated, but you like a challenge, don’t you?_

 

And Fraser understands, dimly, that there will be complications, that nothing was easy before and nothing will be easy now, and that unfamiliar feelings are coiling inside him and there will be a reckoning to come.  But right now, all his dizzy mind can grasp is that Ray and Ray are holding onto him, holding him up, holding him close, and he starts to tremble as the ice begins to ease.

 

 

                                    *                                    *                                    *

 

And it happens like this:

 

“Of course I don’t mind,” Fraser tells Diefenbaker.  His feet slap rhythmically against the concrete as he runs, keeping pace with the wolf’s silent, fluid movement.

 

The tilt of Diefenbaker’s ears expresses skepticism.

 

“Why would I mind?” Fraser retorts.  “This new. . .relationship between Ray and Ray has made things easier among the three of us.  They seem to have finally found a way to diminish the. . .friction between them, or at any rate, to channel it in a more positive direction.”

 

Dief yips softly, twice.

 

“Well, yes, naturally it will take some adjustment on my part.  I’ve become used to having one or the other of them, or both, around in the evenings, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy having a little time to myself—or, to ourselves, for that matter.  I’ve been rather neglecting you, lately, to say nothing of my other responsibilities—“

 

A dismissive flip of the lupine tail tells him what Diefenbaker thinks of this argument.

 

“Well, I must say, it’s kind of you to be so understanding.  Still, even without this new development, it’s only fair to keep in mind that Ray and Ray have lives and responsibilities of their own.  I can hardly expect them to spend all of their spare time in my company.  It would be ridiculous if I started doubting their affection every time Ray went on a trip with his family, or Ray spent time at the boxing gym.  It certainly doesn’t bother me that they’re spending time with each other.  After all, I’ve been trying to encourage them to do so ever since Ray Vecchio returned to Chicago.”

 

Deifenbaker veers off into the grass and comes to a halt; Fraser follows, walking in a circle a few times to cool down.  He goes down on one knee to bury his hands in the wolf’s fur.  Diefenbaker whuffles and licks the side of Fraser’s face.

 

“I’m glad they’re getting along so well,” says Fraser, firmly.  “I’m glad.”

 

And he is.  He just needs to keep reminding himself of that fact.

 

 

                        *                                    *                                    *

 

And it happens like this:

 

“Mm, Ray. . . _Ray!_ ”

 

“Like that, Benny?”

 

“Very much.”

 

Ray chuckles and continues making Fraser shudder.

 

“Benny?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“Only if you don’t stop doing that.”

 

“Fair enough.”  But instead of continuing to speak, Ray runs his tongue around all the curves of Fraser’s left ear, while his hand keeps stroking between Fraser’s legs, slow as sap running.

 

“Mm. . .Ray. . .what did you. . .want to ask?”

 

“Kowalski.”

 

Startled, Fraser tenses in spite of himself.  “What about him?”

 

“Relax, nothing bad, I just wondered. . .what does he call you?  When you’re alone?”

 

“I—what?”

 

“Well, I just—it’s hard to imagine him calling you ‘Fraser’ while he’s, you know. . .doing something like this.”  Ray speeds up his strokes now, chuckling as Fraser’s back arches in response.

 

“Yes, I suppose that would be—ah!—incongruous.  As a matter of fact, he—he calls me ‘Ben.’”

 

“Not ‘Benny?’”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Good,” says Ray, and reduces Fraser to a warm puddle of bliss.

 

“Ray?” he asks, when he can breathe again.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What do you and Ray call each other?  I mean, when you. . . ?  If you don’t mind my asking?”  In front of Fraser, they call each other _Vecchio_ and _Kowalski_ , but surely, in bed. . .

 

“We don’t call each other much of anything.  Well, except when we’re calling each other names.”

 

 

                                    *                                    *                                    *

 

And it happens like this:

 

Fraser enters the bullpen to find his partners crowded together at Ray Vecchio’s desk, the dark head and the blond one bent intently over an array of photographs.  He clears his throat, and two faces turn up to look at him; two smiles flash in greeting.

 

“Fraser!  Just in time!  Get over here and tell Vecchio he needs glasses.  This guy in the background here, that’s Joe Giordano, am I right?”

 

Ray Vecchio snorts skeptically but scoots over to make room for Fraser to crouch between him and Ray Kowalski.

 

“Indeed, Ray, I have to endorse Ray’s claim; that does look distinctly like Mr. Giordano.  And in this one, here, I would say the lady at the edge of the frame bears a marked resemblance to Maria DeLucca, who was an associate of Mr. Giordano’s at the time of the—“

 

“Robbery case where he testified, yeah, that’s right,” says Vecchio.  “She alibi’d him, in fact.  Hey, Kowalski, she pop up in any of the other pics?”

 

Ray Kowalski starts shuffling through the photographs, muttering under his breath.

 

“Ray,” says Fraser very softly in his ear.  Ray twitches, then gives himself a little shake.

 

“Not on the job, buddy,” he whispers.

 

“Ray. . .you appear to be wearing my shirt.”

 

“Huh?  Oh, that, yeah.  I, uh, we kinda overslept this morning and I didn’t have time to make it back to my place before work.  I wasn’t gonna show up in Vecchio’s clothes, ‘cause a) been there, done that, not wearing that shit when I’m not being paid to do it, and b) well, you know, obvious reason.  So he loaned me, uh, your spares.” 

 

“I see.”

 

Ray looks up from the photos to catch Fraser’s eyes.  “You mind?”

 

Fraser gives the question serious, if swift, consideration.  He imagines Ray Kowalski, damp from the shower and wearing only one of Ray Vecchio’s luxurious bath towels, holding out his hands to receive Fraser’s jeans and shirt from Ray Vecchio’s hands.  He looks at Ray’s throat, framed by the blue collar of Fraser’s shirt, which Ray is wearing with the top three buttons open.  He carefully picks up another photograph with both hands, so as to make it impossible to take that fabric between his fingers and let his knuckles brush against Ray’s bare skin.

 

“You’re welcome to it,” says Fraser.  “But perhaps, in the interest of keeping my mind on the task at hand, I should find another seat.”

 

Ray grins, grabs Fraser’s wrist, and leans over his shoulder to peer at the picture he’s holding.

 

“That gives me an interesting idea,” he whispers in Fraser’s ear, causing the hairs to rise all down Fraser’s neck.  “Remind me to tell you about it tonight.”

 

He releases Fraser, who stands abruptly and goes in search of a third chair.  Glancing back over his shoulder, he sees that Ray Vecchio is staring at Ray Kowalski, who is bent back over his work, whistling through his teeth.

 

 

                                    *                                    *                                    *

 

And it happens like this:

 

“Hey Ben?”

 

“Yes, Ray?”

 

“Doesn’t it seem weird to you, that you’re sleeping with two guys who have the same _name?_ ”

 

“It astonishes me to be in a lasting, intimate relationship with anyone, frankly; let alone two people.  Next to that, the coincidence of your names seems. . .trivial.”

 

Ray reaches behind Fraser for the soap, works up a good lather between his hands, and applies it to Fraser’s chest.

 

“I suppose it’s pretty convenient in some ways.  Like, you never have to worry about accidentally calling out the wrong name in the heat of the moment.”

 

Fraser blinks.  “But you’d be able to tell.  That is, when I say your name, or Ray’s. . .they don’t sound the same to me.  Don’t you hear the difference?”

 

Ray turns Fraser around so he can soap his back.

 

“I dunno. . .never really thought about it that way.  Back at the beginning, when I was being Vecchio, I always kind of assumed you were calling me by _his_ name.  But I never noticed any change, after I was just me, I mean.  You still say my name the same, don’t you?”

 

“I’ve always called you by your own name, Ray.”

 

Ray slips his arms around Fraser’s waist and rests his cheek on Fraser’s back while the water beats down on both their heads for a long while.

 

“You’ll have to teach me how to say Vecchio’s name right,” says Ray at last, a smile audible in his voice.  “Someday I want to call him _Ray_ just to watch him hit the ceiling.”

 

 

                                    *                                    *                                    *

 

And it happens like this:

 

“I swear to God, Fraser, the next time you tell me to jump in that Goddamned lake, I’m damn well saying No.  They can shoot me, I don’t care.  I mean it.”

 

“Oh, shut up already, Kowalski, even you don’t believe you.  I don’t know why you bother.”

 

“Same reason you keep buying expensive clothes when you know they’re just gonna end up wrecked.”

 

“Oh yeah?  What’s that?”

 

Fraser listens to his partners’ bickering with half an ear, but the bulk of his attention is claimed by the pain in his back.  Relatively speaking, he’s endured worse pain on many occasions: being shot, for example, is far more agonizing.  Even so, the cramped, spasming muscles are distracting.  It requires concentration to keep pace with Ray and Ray, to walk upright and silent.

 

“Hey Benny, you okay?”  Ray Vecchio touches his arm, looking at him in concern.

 

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said.  “I seem to have wrenched my back slightly when I landed.”

 

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” says Ray Kowalski, but his hand is gentle on Fraser’s other shoulder.  “How bad is it?  Should we get a doc to check it out?”

 

“No, no, really, it’s not too bad.  Perhaps a hot shower. . .”

 

“Okay, yeah, you got it.  And I can give you a backrub after, if you want.  I mean—shit, sorry, Vecchio, I didn’t mean—”

 

Because of course, it’s Ray’s night with Ray, not Fraser’s.

 

But Ray Vecchio waves it off before Ray Kowalski can get too upset.  “Nah, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.  Take Benny home, get him fixed up.  Tell you the truth, all I want right now is to get these damned clothes off, get clean, and collapse.”

 

“Yeah?” asks Ray.

 

“Yeah.  Look, it’s just a schedule, it’s not the end of the world.”

 

“No, right, of course not,” mumbles Ray, his fingers digging into Fraser’s arm.

 

“Thank you kindly, Ray,” Fraser tells Ray Vecchio, patting Ray Kowalski’s hand soothingly.

 

“Hey, no problem.  You take care of yourself, okay?  And you take care of him, Kowalski.”

 

“Yeah.  Listen, you change your mind, you want to join us for dinner, call, okay?” Ray Kowalksi says as Ray Vecchio walks away.

 

Ray has Fraser laid out on his stomach on the bed, his strong, supple hands working their way up and down Fraser’s back, easing the pain away by infinitesimal degrees, when the doorbell rings.

 

“Don’t get up,” says Ray, unnecessarily; Fraser isn’t sure he could move right now if he wanted to.

 

He hears voices in the other room: Ray Vecchio saying something about “Figured I’d join you after all,” and Ray Kowalski replying, “I ordered you Kung Pao chicken, it’s on the table.”

 

Soon Ray’s hands return to their blessed work.  Fraser moans in appreciation as his clenched muscles loosen.  Ray chuckles and keeps kneading, until Fraser is limp and drifting in a pleasant half-doze.

 

He hears Ray Vecchio somewhere above and behind him: “Christ, Kowalski, what’re you _doing_ to him?  He doesn’t make noises like that in _bed_ , for God’s sake.  Not for me, anyway.”

 

Ray Kowalski’s smug grin is audible in his voice.  “Not for me, either.  Not unless I’m real lucky.”  His fingertips bracket Fraser’s spine just above his tailbone and inch slowly upwards, trailing a warm, tingling wake.

 

The next thing Fraser hears is Ray Vecchio asking, “Hey, what do I have to do to get some of what he’s getting?”

 

“Injure your back.  Or, you know, ask.”

 

Ray’s hands pause on Fraser’s back.  The mattress moves a little as Ray’s weight shifts.  There’s the sound of a kiss, then another.  Then Ray’s hands resume their movement, and Fraser isn’t feeling any pain any longer, and he’s slipping his moorings and floating off to sleep, while back on the shore, someone chuckles and someone sighs.

 

 

                                    *                                    *                                    *

 

And it happens like this:

 

The Blackhawks are playing the Maple Leafs on Ray Vecchio’s television set.  Fraser sits on the sofa, comfortably wedged between Ray and Ray, both of whom are engaging with the (admittedly gripping) action with loud voices, excited hand gestures, and a great deal more confidence in the Blackhawks than the state of play actually warrants.  When the Leafs score, Fraser can’t help turning to Ray Vecchio with a smug smile and a platitude about counting one’s chickens.  Ray gives him a playful swat on the shoulder, Fraser answers in kind, and before he quite knows what’s happening, Fraser is toppling backwards into Ray Kowalski’s lap with Ray Vecchio sprawled on top of him.

 

Ray Kowalski splutters with startled merriment and grabs Fraser by the shoulders—gently enough, Fraser could break his grip easily if he chose, but this is only a mock battle and he chooses to let himself be restrained.  Ray Vecchio raises his face and looks at Fraser, a flush creeping over his cheeks.  Then he tilts his head even farther back, looking at Ray over Fraser’s head.  Fraser looks up, too, just as Ray looks down at him.  Checking in, like they do on the job, but there’s a bedroom glint in Ray’s eyes as well.

 

“Yeah?” he asks.  His hand drifts over to rest on Fraser’s cheek; Ray Vecchio’s mirrors the gesture on the other side of Fraser’s face.  Fraser’s whole body shudders; the breath rushes out of him.

 

“Yes,” he manages to whisper.

 

Ray Vecchio’s sleepy eyes get round.  “Oh, yeah,” he says softly, and closes the gap between his mouth and Fraser’s.  Ray Kowalski’s chest vibrates with a sound somewhere between sigh and moan, and his long arms wrap gently around Fraser and Ray.

 

Later (considerably later), Fraser nestles between the two Rays in Ray’s bed, his eyes half-closed, listening to them bicker over his head.

 

“You know, this ain’t gonna make anything simpler,” says Ray Kowalski.

 

Ray Vecchio snorts dismissively.  “You’re just cranky ‘cause someone other than you shook things up for a change.”

 

“I’m just _saying_ , it’s gonna be complicated.  Like, just for instance, this bed ain’t big enough to sleep three.”

 

This is Fraser’s cue to start talking about bedrolls, simply for the pleasure of the stereo outrage it would provoke.  But his mouth is currently full of Ray Kowalski’s fingers, and his throat is tight with wonder.  So he settles for biting gently down on Ray’s fingers.

 

“Ah!” Ray’s exclamation is halfway between a yelp of surprise and a groan of pleasure.  “Hey, hey, did I suggest anyone oughta leave?  No, I did not.  So don’t get your panties in a twist.”

 

Fraser hums contentedly and goes back to suckling.

 

“And there’s another thing,” Ray continues.  “Who sleeps where?  I mean, are we gonna have to wrestle for the middle of the bed every time?”

 

“You think the middle sounds good now, but just wait ‘till the first time you’ve got to get up in the night to take a leak.”  Ray Vecchio traces a lazy circle around Fraser’s bellybutton with one finger.

 

Fraser is currently finding the middle of the bed a fine position, indeed, but he doesn’t feel the need to weigh in on the argument just now.  He has something much more important to communicate, so he removes Ray’s fingers from his mouth, giving Ray’s hand an affectionate squeeze.

 

“I love you both,” Fraser tells them.

 

“Me too, Benny.”

 

“Yeah, me three.”

 

“You’re so fucking juvenile.”  Ray Vecchio reaches over Fraser to mock-punch Ray Kowalski, which, predictably, leads in short order to a three-way scuffle.  Fraser ends up in the middle again when they run out of steam, which he considers an indication of victory.

 

And still later, half-dozing, Fraser touches a warm, breathing body on either side of him.

 

“Ray,” he murmurs.

 

“Benny,” comes the soft reply.

 

“Ray.”

 

“Ben.”

 

“Stanley.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Ray!”

 

“Aw, c’mon Ben, you know that’s secret code for ‘I love you.’”

 

“Right back atcha, loser.”

 

“Ain’t no losers here.  Everyone wins, right, Ben?”

 

“Right you are, Ray.”


End file.
